"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. " "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. ” She glanced at Brendon, who stood by her side, tall and threatening. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. .
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